


Changes in life

by Rogercat



Series: Blind Finarfin AU [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blindness, Brotherly Love, Captivity, Disabled Character, Dysfunctional Family, F/M, Family Issues, Gen, Middle Earth, Missing Persons, Revenge, Royalty, Sibling Rivalry, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, War of Wrath
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:10:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogercat/pseuds/Rogercat
Summary: Finarfin is not too pleased over always being viewed as weaker than his brothers





	Changes in life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mangacrack](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mangacrack/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The blind Noldor prince](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9182659) by [Rogercat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rogercat/pseuds/Rogercat). 



> I saw on your DA profile that it is your birthday on december 31, so here is a little gift. It is a spin-off to my earlier AU one-shot named The Blind Noldor Prince

If Finarfin had to be asked, so did he still at times think that all of it was just a dream and that he would soon wake up, only to find himself back in the role of being the third son, the youngest of the five children to High King Finwë of the Noldor. But this was no dream, it all was too real. Normally he was fine in sailing a boat or the big ships of the people his beloved Eärwen belonged to, but at the very moment…             

“I hate storms,” was all he managed to tell his poor servant, who had almost panicked at seeing his Lord being so seasick that he was bidding his breakfast farewell over the ship's hull.  

 

“Sire, you should get back into your cabin below…” 

 

Finarfin turned slightly green at the mere thought of that. Normally he never got sea sick, but the Host of the Valar had been unfortunate to sail straight into a minor storm as that was on the fastest way to Middle-Earth. Not to mention that it was a rather long time since he last had been sailing in such bad weather, with his duties as the current High King of the Noldor left in Valinor. 

 

“No, I will stay up here, unless you wish to clean the whole cabin after me when the weather calms down enough,” Finarfin warned in a faint voice, feeling that he may be ready for losing more of what he had eaten before the storm. 

 

That seemed to be enough. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

When Maedhros and Maglor heard who the Noldor leader for the Host of the Valar was, they first could not really believe it. 

 

“Impossible...no way...there is no way Indis would allow her last remaining son to…” Maedhros whispered, before recalling a very faint memory of why his step-grandmother and her youngest son had been having a such distant relationship to each others, and felt stupid for forgetting that detail. Then again, it had been that kind of detail they had never really thought of while growing up in Valinor. It seemed like Maglor was remembering the same.   

 

“We better check so it is true, and not cousin Finrod using a glamor over himself to get himself back to Middle-Earth in order to give his father glory.”

 

Granted, their cousin had always loved his father and were very likely to try and fight in his stead for various reasons if he could get away with it. It was not that Finarfin was weak, from it, but being the younger brother of the famed Fëanor and Fingolfin had always caused him to fall into their shadows. Even more so, when Finarfin had been born with a rare condition among the Elves which had caused his parents to basically hide him away from sight during his early years. Especially Indis, who could not stand the gossip of that her youngest son might even be a spiritual revenge from Míriel Þerrindë for daring to take her place as Queen and mother to Finwë's children. And Finwë himself had shown himself to be pretty the neglectful kind of father by never spending time with Finarfin as he knew up, choosing his tasks as a King instead. Sure, it was important for a King to rule his people, but not to the point of neglecting family members simply because he did not know how to bond with his youngest son.    

 

“Yes...yes, we better find his tent. Right now. Elros, Elrond, do not follow us, stay here and rest from the journey,” Maedhros requested to the young twins, who had looked ready to come along. They did not seem too happy having to stay, but Maglor promised to tell them any information later at coming back.

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

There was no mistake in that aura, or the person inside the tent who was dressed in a simple robe over a tunic, pants and boots. Finrod would never truly be able to imitate the movements of his father, or the way his eyes seemed to stare out into nothing. In the gentle light from a lamp as he looked up, the clouded eyes revealed the blindness Finarfin had been born with. 

 

“Nelyo?” Finarfin wondered in a slightly doubtful voice, not really sure if it was his oldest nephew's aura or not, it was way too much grief and anger now if he had to compare with how Maedhros had felt back in Valinor. 

 

“Uncle?” 

 

At the second voice confirmed itself to be Maglor, meaning that it truly had to be his two remaining Fëanorian nephews alive. Taking a hold on the table so he did not step into it, Finarfin slowly rose from his chair, his dominant hand carefully reaching out in a attempt to touch one of them.  

 

“Wait!” Maedhros, to his own surprise, pleaded in worry when Finarfin came dangerously close to hitting his head on the lamp hanging from top of the tent roof. With his handicap, there was no way Finarfin could see it himself. the High King felt a hand touching his shoulder, trembling at the touch as if the owner could not really believe that he was real.

 

“Nelyo? I...I am there, I am real…” 

 

Maedhros could not fault his uncle for fearing that his reaction came from believing that this was only a dream, a mockery from the dark Lords haunting his dreams. Allowing Finarfin to lay his hands on his own arm and shoulder, he tried very hard to not start crying. 

 

“Uncle...how come that you came here? I do not doubt that you are strong and a have a good reason for coming here, but..your…” Maglor questioned, before trying to find a more kind word about Finarfin's blindness without insulting his uncle, who had faced a lot of unkind word about it as he had grown up. 

 

“I am well aware that my disability would make me useless in battle, yes. But if I can not be a warrior, then I hope to at least bring hope to people here who needs to be given a ray of hope in dark times.”

 

Both the Fëanorian brothers noticed the change in how Finarfin spoke. Not simply as a father, but a High King who had faced the difficult times of leading a divided people and overcome it. He had mastered a style of Kingship which neither Fingolfin or Fëanor had managed, all thanks to that he had been so low-ranking in the Noldor line of succession that no one had ever expected him to be a ruler.

 

“And given how many family members that have been lost over the years, am I really at fault for wishing to meet the last remaining ones, even if someone of them are of a generation I have never met?”

 

Those were true words, a promise. Recalling how the Oath were bound to doom his nephews because of how they had sworn it, Finarfin had watched his words. In return, they both knelt. Not as subjects to a king, but rather as nephews in front of a uncle they always had trusted. 

 

“Then allow us, alongside the troops of Gil-galad, to guide the Host of the Valar in this new war against the Dark Lord.” 

 

“On the price of getting a hug from you together for the first time in over five hundred years, rascals.” 

 

That, if anything, was a nickname Finarfin had often used on his Fëanorian nephews whatever some of them had gotten into trouble, something slightly ironic given that both Maedhros and Maglor actually was older than himself since Finarfin had been born shortly before that his sister Írimë was about to enter adolescence while Fingolfin had been in that awkward stage between a boy and a young man at his birth. On the other hand, he was their senior in terms of lineage as their uncle. 

 

“If you so wishes, uncle.” 

 

To be fair, even if Finarfin had felt the strong muscles on Maedhros' arm earlier, he was not really prepared on nearly getting crushed between the two brothers. They could feel that he had attempted to train up his body in case he needed to fight, though Finarfin was still a long way from their own well-training bodies despite that he had never been lazy.  

 

“Besides...it is time to remind Morgoth that my father sired  **_three_ ** sons, not just just the famous two who went into exile and died in battle here in those lands.” 

 

That comment was enough to make Maedhros and Maglor worry for a moment, given that it was spoken in the middle of the family hug, as Finarfin's manner of speaking suddenly sounded awfully alike to how Fëanor would speak.  

 

“It would be preferable if you could avoid dying, uncle Ara. Or aunt Eärwen might sail over here to kill us personally…” 

 

Finarfin smiled, in a way he never had done in Valinor from what they could remember. Despite his blonde hair which was more wavy than hanging straight, his sibling resemblance to Fëanor and Fingolfin was very striking in that moment. 

 

“Or Findaráto reminding people exactly how he killed that werewolf with his bare hands and teeth,” he said in a calm manner, unaware of how he almost creeped out his battle-hardened nephews now. Sharing a glare over his head, they agreed silently on trying to not endanger their normally peaceful uncle during the time he would be in Middle-earth. 

 

~X~X~X~X~X~X

 

No one who had lived in terror for his power during the whole First Age, could really believe their eyes as Morgoth was dragged along the ground by Aulë and Tulkas, while he was bound all over his body with the mighty chain called Angainor which once had been used to contain Morgoth as a prisoner in the Halls of Mandos so long ago. As a bit of irony of his former power, his Iron Crown had been beaten into a collar which he now wore around his neck. 

 

“Kneel before the Children of our Father whose lives you have ruined for all those years, bastard!” 

 

Tulkas used his strength to force Morgoth facedown into the barren ground in front of the gathered leaders of the Elves, Men and Dwarves, their remaining armies a bit behind them. Finarfin, who more sensed the auras around him and the movements in the ground despite having his back turned against the Valar, spoke in a cold voice:

 

“This is the Dark One who stole the lives of my family members during the battles? Who stole the Silmarils of my oldest brother? If so, then I wish to say this…” 

 

Suddenly, without any warning, Finarfin turned around and kicked Morgoth's left side of the face, hard enough to draw blood.

 

“ _ That one, was for  _ **_my brothers_ ** _ who gave me a normal life despite my parents and sisters giving up early on me because of my blindness which they did not know how to handle! _ ” 

 

A second kick, this time on the right side.  

 

“ _ That one, was for my lost  _ **_sons and their other relatives_ ** _ who now are in the Halls thanks to you! _ ” 

 

Now gasping for breath after yelling in a such manner Finarfin showed that he indeed was a younger brother to Fëanor and Fingolfin, it was just that he rarely showed that kind of power as a High King and that people tended to view him as weak when contrasted to his brothers. One of his titles as the current Noldor ruler in Valinor may be “the Peaceful”, but he did have a surprisingly fierce side of himself few had seen before the War of Wraith, where many had realized the mistake of seeing it as passive and not warrior-like at all. It seemed like Morgoth had the biggest shock, though, as he always had dismissed Finarfin as useless to use in the tension between Fëanor and Fingolfin over who that was the rightful heir to the crown, not to mention that two against one would not keep balance in a longer run.  

 

And then a third hit, though it was made with a sword Finarfin mostly had been having on him for protection. It sank deeply into the dry ground in a straight movement pointing down, as his blindness prevented Finarfin from getting a proper hit on Morgoth, yet it was enough to cause a really long, gaping wound on the fallen Vala's neck, very narrowly missing the artery. It was really unnerving to see how much Finarfin had meant to behead Morgoth if he had been able to do it. The glow which all Elves had, now burned with a white and golden fire around him.

 

“ **_Instead of a great royal House broken apart, you better recall that my father Finwë fathered_ ** **_three_ ** **_sons, not just the two who came here to Middle-Earth after you! The three Houses of our descendants shall join forces together and haunt you to the very end!_ ** ” 

 

Even though he was blind, there was a burning fire in Finarfin's eyes which shone past the cataracts preventing him from seeing anything from birth. It was a inner fire burning with calm control, not though desperate rage or furious hate. He had learnt from the mistakes of his elder brothers which had cost their lives in the end. And Morgoth realized just what kind of big mistake he had done, by setting up Fëanor and Fingolfin as rivals over the love and crown from their father while Finarfin recalled them as a sibling team who had helped him getting a actual chance in life instead of being locked away like a shameful secret.    

 

“ _ Yes...I may be of a calmer nature than my brothers, but even the tiniest spark can cause a forest fire with enough strength and turbulent circumstances. And by becoming the High King of the remaining Noldor in Valinor...we managed to build up our strength and numbers again, all in time to form a part of the armies which have brought you down in this war. _ ” 

 

Taking a deep breath to calm down himself, Finarfin moved away from Morgoth as Aulë and Tulkas began to pull him away to where the other Valar was waiting. Yet there was no doubt about the pure hate in his glare over how the Dark Lord had tainted the former peaceful relationship between the three sons of Finwë and their children. Friendships had been broken, brotherly trust replaced by distrust and false belief turning them on opposite ends of a bitter sibling rivalry, rooting in the lies Morgoth had given Fëanor, even if Fingolfin had forgiven Fëanor early on and tried to reconcile with him. 

 

“My elder brothers may be changed from what I remember of them in my early life, but I will not give up in having them regain the sibling relationship that once bound them together, when it came to protect me from a sad fate of being hidden away from the world. Now is my turn to return that favor to them, to rebuild our relationship as brothers, not as three people where one of us have a different birth mother than the other two. I refuse to once more fall into their shadows, simply because I am the youngest of us three or because of my inability to see from the moment I entered this world.” 

 

Finarfin meant every word. He was still haunted by nightmares of the Darkening of Valinor, when so many of his family members had left Tirion to never return alive. His five children may have left Valinor with his blessing, knowing that his blindness would only have made him a burden on the long journey, but nothing in his Kingship had managed to dampen the pain to lose his family. For all the love between him and Eärwen, something had been missing from their lives until that Finrod had been reborn. For now, Finarfin would focus on trying and help the exiled Noldor return to Valinor, or get used to living again if they had spent time in the Halls of Mandos. And the day when his brothers, both of them, was reborn again in the far-off future, they sure was going to get a very loud, public scolding from Finarfin about how idiotic they had been by choosing exile and leaving him to deal with the mess left behind. 

 

“Stupid elder brothers! I am unable to see, yet they failed to realize that Morgoth's lies was behind the change in their relationship as brothers?!” Finarfin thought in a rare moment of childish manner he had not done in many centuries. For being older than him, they sure had proved themselves blind while he had not trusted anything good to follow when Morgoth had been released from his imprisonment in the Halls. 

 

Taking out something from a inner pocket in his belt, Finarfin took out the circlet Fëanor had crafted for his coming-of-age. He knew neither if the metal were gold or silver, or what colour the gemstones had outside that Fingolfin had chosen them, but for him it was a remaining symbol of the love once shared between the three sons of Finwë, for what once had been.       


End file.
